


20 Short Tales of 221B Baker Street : Behind Sealed Blinds

by my_dear_man



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anniversary, Arguing, Breakfast in Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Disguise, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Gambling, Glasses, Hot Weather, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mood Swings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV John Watson, Post Case Care, Roommates, Seduction, Sick Character, So Married, Swapping Clothes, Teasing, attention seeking, bossy holmes, sulking holmes, violin playing, watson tries disguising
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_dear_man/pseuds/my_dear_man
Summary: Sometimes I believe that I am sharing quarters with a complete madman whom, to my great astonishment, is helplessly in love with me. It seems that makes the two of us.





	1. The Wheels Cease to Move!

**Author's Note:**

> ficlets regarding the doctor and the detective's years in their cozy homes in Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When there is no cases of stolen royal diamonds or Lords and Dukes pleading to us on their knees for our humble service, then that is where I must play a vital role for once.

During our inactive days with no cases to pursue or clients to lend them our absolute attention to, were the days I loathe the most. Not because of the sole idea that I simply had nothing to engage myself with so that I may fill up my spare time but rather the idea of having to face my companion's restless figure in the sitting room once more. Up and down he would pace himself with an air of agitation from the fireplace to the window. Then, from my study desk to his chemistry table and at times, he would stomp around the hearth rug in circles for what seems like an age. Muttering underneath his breath a chain of insults either to the boys from Scotland Yard or the criminal minds of Britain whom both failed the detective all the same.

On one crisps February morning was no exception. Sherlock Holmes was at it again. The lean tall figure of Holmes was pacing restlessly in front of me with his face clearly irritated beyond words and his twitching fingers clasped tightly behind his back. His eyes darting around the room, searching for God knows what. Meanwhile, I was comfortably seated in my armchair with my face hidden behind the morning papers. The sound of Holmes thumping footsteps became the only sound that I had to bear with through my read. After realising that I could no longer follow an article which I was quite enjoying for the sound of his feet grew louder by the second, I tossed the newspaper on the floor and sat up.

"Holmes." I called out to him but with no response. I tried again. "My dear Holmes." Still, his confounded pacing continued. I was already rubbing my temple.

"My dear Holmes!"

I managed to grab hold the sleeve of his dressing gown with such force that he nearly tumbled backwards. He snapped his head towards me with such an expression that looked as if he would eat me whole. His eyes, grey as a brewing thunderstorm with no hint of light in them.

"What is it, Watson?"

His voice was low and sounded almost malicious which left me paralysed for that one moment. I regained my own control and I was content to ease my friend's own straining nerves. If I didn't, he would either end up in the fighting pits or sprawled on the settee with a needle sticking out of his arm.

"How about we sit down for lunch? Mrs. Hudson has already brought up the tea. She even made your favourite buttermilk biscuits which I specially asked her to bake. Now, for heaven's sake Holmes, do please sit down."

"And what will that do, Watson? It will certainly not help to save me from this dreadful state of stagnation! Consuming food is a basic human need for which I can do whenever I please. Besides, you sound like my old nanny or even worse, a wife." He snarled at those last few words but I paid them no mind. If I really were his wife, Sherlock Holmes would not hear the last from me. 

"If you do not wish to lunch then I merely beg of you to sit down beside the fire with me."

Gingerly, I took his hands into mine. I slowly rubbed his knuckles and the pads of his rough fingertips in small circles, hoping my pleading voice might calm him down and hopefully, bring back his patience. Holmes is not a patient man. That is something everyone needs to be informed beforehand if they wish to cross paths with the great detective.

"I assure you, if you sit down, you will feel much better. Sometimes the mind will listen to the body if it is tricked that the body is in a stabil state."

I knew Holmes was not convinced with my understanding when I saw him rolled his eyes in front of me.

"Alright."

He gave a frustrated sigh and nearly flung himself onto his armchair. His gaze settled on the blazing fire when I saw his shoulders slumped back behind the cushions. I poured both of us a glass of brandy and made my way back to him. I handed him a glass and he took it with a nod. I sat beside him on the arms of his chair and gently I rubbed his shoulder. We sat there for a few minutes in silence before I bent down to place a light kiss on his head. The locks of his raven black hair tickled my moustache when I did. 

"I'm sure something will turn up, Holmes. They always do. But for know I intend to keep you distracted or at least, sane for the time being."

He sighed deeply in reply but I could see the corners of his thin lips, tugging into a weak smile. "I advice you keep those expectations low, Doctor." He said quietly as he found my hand that was gently petting his head. 

"Then, I have not exhausted my options just yet, my dear." I smiled.


	2. When They Fail to Show Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his own clothings are missing and even the great Sherlock Holmes is on his wits end trying to find them. Thus, the following scenes will only result us, shouting the entire house down.

"What do you mean you haven't seen them, Watson?" Holmes was ruffling through his drawers, pulling out his neatly folded pairs of trousers from their stacks in a desperate attempt to find his favourite pair of socks.

"By which I mean,  _I do not know where they are._ " I made sure to emphasise those words so that maybe he would stop creating a mess of his rooms. "You have other pairs of socks that looks as good as your most cherished ones."

"The one pair of sock which I most favour is in fact a gift from my brother so of course, it is well my bloody cherished sock." He started frantically lifting the pillows on his bed and tossing them aside on the floor. I rubbed my face with a groan because this somewhat is understandingly ridiculous. For someone who claims that he pays no heed to the mundane details of life was now in a vain search for his missing socks. 

"I remember clearly you were the last man to enter my rooms after Mrs. Hudson. So, that makes you the suspect in this case." Holmes crawled on his hands and knees to see if that wretched sock was hiding somewhere among his dust collected belongings underneath his bed. 

"Well, have you made inquires about it to Mrs. Hudson?" I felt awfully too grumpy to put up with his case of the detective's missing clothes for I have just woken up on his bed after a wonderful night of him sodding me through his mattress. 

"I did just that but she was firm that those socks were not in the laundry baskets before she started her daily washing."

It was clear as daylight that Holmes was on the verge of turning our whole lodgings upside down for the sake of his socks. He ruffled his hair so that the locks stick out in a maniac fashion. "This is nonsense, Holmes! Surely you can trace the last place the socks were before and deduce where it might be now." I got up to retrieve my trousers and nightshirt which lay scattered on the bedroom floor. I turned to face Holmes and knew that his patience has run completely dry. I braced myself for the worse to come.

"Are you expecting me that I know where every single object is placed and where they might be if they are missing? So now I have been reduced to a mere bloodhound where my one purpose is to fetch everyday things of no value so as to satisfy my masters, is that it, Watson?!" I could see his fists clenched into a ball and he was trembling from head to toe with anger. As for myself, I just about had enough. 

"Well, you are, by all means, terrifyingly good at it. Sniffing out precious carbuncles and valuable pearls out of thin air so I cannot see why you are facing problems with this particular predicament!" Before I could storm out of his room, Holmes was quick to add fuel to our domestic squabble.

"Might I point out that ever since we started making love in my room, my personal belongings have slowly been missing. For example, one of my false moustache in which I use for my disguises." I turned around to face him directly with my unbearable urge to grip him by the shoulders and fling him across the room.

"Are you trying to _imply_ something, Holmes?" I said between clenched teeth. 

"Oh, I see that your vacant mind is still able to follow me. How delightful!" Holmes presented me his most sickeningly sweet smile which made my blood boil and my ears started to burn hot. I was ready to wrap my hands around his windpipe when suddenly a knock came to Holmes's bedroom door.

"Mr. Holmes. May I speak to you?" The sound of Mrs. Hudson voice halted us where we stand. We looked at each other then Holmes proceeded to clear his throat.

"Yes. Allow me a few minutes and I will be with you, Mrs. Hudson."

Holmes quickly made himself looked presentable as he combed back his slick hair and smoothed out his vest and trousers. He attached back his cuffs, made his way out and closed the door behind him so that our dear landlady would not suspect that her two tenants were buggering one another. While Holmes was discussing with our landlady, I got into my trousers and my night shirt from yesterday, still smelling of his favourite cigars. Finally, the door opened and Holmes came in with his hands behind his back.

"Watson."

"Yes, Holmes?"

"I owe you a sincere apology. It turns out my socks were mixed with the little maid's own laundry. Mrs. Hudson would never believe I owned such a sock as these." He said with an apologetic tone as he revealed the socks from his back. A pair of dark brown socks with stitched patterns of white honeybees scattered across the fabric. A silly yet charming little thing Holmes deeply loved from his brother. My anger faded away when I saw how much he valued it. I stepped forwards and gave him a firm kiss on the lips and he returned it gratefully with a satisfied hum. 

"I've endured believing you were dead for three years and regardless, I still accepted your apology so of course, my love, you are forgiven." 

"Now, put on those damned socks and come join me for breakfast."  


	3. Never to Be Published

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are times when even the most talented of man will eventually feel the earth beneath him. Realizing that a single blunder is inevitable but when having to share it for the world to see, to judge or to even laugh at. "Over my cold rotting corpse, Watson," said my friend.

"Why not, Holmes? This mystery is certainly the most singular and queer problems you have had the honor of engaging."

I sat crossed legged on the carpeted floor with piles of my companion's earlier cases littered around our sitting room. It was another day in which I managed to drag Holmes from the settee so that he may use his energy on organising his mountains of papers and manuscript of his previous works. We were not even halfway through his written cases when I accidentally stumbled upon one of his narratives which were written in such a sloppy manner that it aroused my curiosity. Holmes's handwriting were as clear and precise as a woman's so to see such badly written paragraphs, I could not help but turn my attention to it.

"Absolutely not. As for the reasons that you wish to know, I simply believe you can deduce that for yourself, my dear Watson."

He said as he tied a few more of his old books into one stack with a sturdy string then proceeded to lay it beside his old chest. From the tone of his voice, I could tell that he did not want any part in this topic. Nevertheless, I trudged forwards into forbidden territory. 

"What? Is it because of your spotless reputation for streams of successful cases?" I said in a playfully mocking tone to which my friend did not seem to enjoy whatsoever.

"Very funny."

"Then, what?"

"My pride, Watson! My pride! I have already tainted my reputation more than a dozen times now. At times where I had to go against the law instead of fighting for them. I'm sure you would agree with me after the affair regarding the late Charles Augustus Milverton. Nothing hurts me more than knowing I have failed. This case in specific," Holmes held out his hand for the papers and I gladly gave it to him. He flipped through the pages with his eyes trailing the words in a sort of nostalgic feel. "this man, Jude Hollbrook juggled three separate crimes in his dreadful lifetime. Theft, blackmail and child abduction and that disgusting man slithered through my grasps all because I was too comfortable."

I tried to lighten up the mood when I realised Holmes fell quiet for a few seconds. Somewhere in the pit of my heart, I felt guilty for bringing up his failures. Yet, his adventures are of wonders! His limitless energy and brilliance poured out into his unsolved mysteries were the one I most adored. How could I possibly stay silent when I knew the stories of a brilliant man who never got more than he ought to deserve?

"My dear Holmes, I only wish to publish the tales of these stories not because I simply want more subscriptions for The Strand but rather I wish to share the wonders and adventures you have bravely faced! Imagine it, my dear," I got onto my feet with relentless energy then placing my right foot onto the footstool with my hands on my hips as if I were the first man to set foot on the moon.

"You delicately planted your traps, hijacked a runaway hansom and saved an innocent child's life and all in one week, I might add! Yes, you failed to capture that vile man but you have helped so much, Holmes. I can already see the groups of young schoolboys admiring you from afar and those old hopeless inspectors are filled with life once more to see such a youth in this day and age."

I looked down to see his tender smile and eyes staring at me as if I were the one who should be praised. "Thank you, Watson. I truly appreciate your words but I must stand my ground. I do not want these cases to be published no matter how horribly you have written and edited it. Besides, you might eventually turn this into a bedtime story for young boys." He grinned as he rose up to his feet then making his way to the breakfast table. 

"Of course, Holmes. As long as it will keep you from starting this same argument again about my admiration for romanticism in my writings." I told him as I found my seat at the table with the tea still lukewarm on the tray.

"Also regarding your inability to properly present the facts as I would have done." Holmes did not hesitate when it came to teasing me.

"If I am lucky, I might be able to write a monograph about the downfalls of living with a consulting detective."

"Oh, how the public would lap it up from the shelves!" He giggled to himself.


	4. Your Voice is Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He often asks me to read for him when he can't be bothered to lift up his own papers. Nevertheless, I obey without complain because the thought of my voice being the only thing he wishes to hear is quite enough for me.

Our rooms were dark and quiet on that one August night. Nothing save the fire and our oil lamps were the only source of light that illuminated our frigid sitting room. We were seated in our own armchairs after a triumphant day of a closed mystery but sadly we took no break afterwards for there were more problems and puzzles that required our presence.

I lowered down my medical journal to steal a peek at my beloved friend, Sherlock Holmes. I sighed when I saw Holmes in a terribly drowsy and exhausted state. His eyelids were drooping due to the lack of sleep he was receiving during these past few days of tight schedule. Clients and criminals came and went without the slightest hint of slowing down for our sake. Thus, leaving my Holmes to overwork himself to the point that he was deprived from a good night's slumber. I made sure he ate his meals every now and then but I could not control his tendencies to stay up through the nights.

"I know you are worried, Watson." Said my companion as he tossed a letter onto the floor, adding more to the pile of telegrams and letters we have received this morning.

"How can I not be when you can barely hold up your head." I let myself yawn when I could no longer ignore my body's need for rest and recovery. 

"I cannot sleep when my mind is reminded of the these unsettled problems." 

"Well, as for me, I need to retire before I collapse in my armchair. Good night, Holmes." I was about to rise on my feet when suddenly, Holmes stopped me before I could do so.

"Watson."

"Yes, my dear?"

"Would you do me one last favour?" Holmes would surely know by now that I would do anything for him. I felt my heart warmed whenever he needed me for something to which I will readily carry out his orders without a doubt.

"I am yours to be used."

"Will you read me something, Watson. Anything at all. I for one....enjoy listening to your voice. Your voice is a soothing sound and if I am fortunate, I may be able to get a few minutes of sleep." He said quietly while his eyes searched for any irritation that might appear on my face. His confession regarding my voice sent colour to my cheeks and I cleared my throat before I could lose myself in his grey eyes. 

"Certainly, Holmes. What would you like me to read?"

"I was hoping you would pick. Something...to ease my racing mind." 

I nodded to his statement as I sat up to browse through the rows of books on the shelves near the fireplace. My fingers ghosting over the spines of my familiar collection of novels when one special book caught my eye. I pulled it out and gazed at the faded tittle and smiled.

_"A Study In Scarlet - Dr. John. H Watson"_

Holmes noticed the book that I have picked but said nothing. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes and let his head rest against the cushions.

I sat back down with a sigh, turning the book to its first page and began my narrative from where it all began as the old broken ex-army doctor. I read calmly in my natural voice but I could not say the same for my mind and heart. As I read, the memories of our first meetings refused to be left unnoticed and gradually I recalled the events that happened in the years of our early friendship. I chuckled when I came to the list I have made about his knowledge and skills. I kept on reading until I could feel my voice becoming hoarse when I came halfway in my readings. 

_"My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive to the flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty,"_

I paused for a moment to steal a glance at my tired friend. When I did, I was grateful as well as relieved when I saw that he was fast asleep in where he sit. His chest slowly heaving up and down to the rhythm of his soft breathing and the light from the fire that fell on his pale features, sent a shiver running down my spine. I went towards him for I could not resist to feel him under my fingertips. He was beautiful and not a single person can tell me otherwise. I gave him a small kiss on his forehead as I whispered to him a goodnight. I knew he could not hear me but I wished him a peaceful night all the same.

"I must retire to bed, my dear Holmes. Good night, my love." 


	5. In Fine Linen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes can be utterly difficult. It almost seems as if I am handling a young boy trapped inside a body of a man in his mid thirties. When he refuses to cooperate with me then I shall try within my power, to see to it that Holmes is dressed.

"Oh, for goodness's sake Holmes! You are still asleep and the time is half past eight. No doubt we shall be late to pay a visit to your brother."

I was already dressed for today's joyful Christmas morning and was about to fetch my walking stick that I have left in Holmes's bedroom when, to my disappointment, I saw my friend snoring away under the quilts with a face so innocent that I could have mistaken him for a sleeping child. I shook my head because I simply did not have time for sympathy. I forcefully ripped the blankets from his thin figure, revealing underneath my curled up Holmes, groaning aloud due to my rude awakening.

 _"Must we really, John?"_ His eyes shut tight while his hands busily searched for his quilts so that he may retreat back to sleep.

"You made a promise to me that we would at least spend a few hours together with your brother then in the afternoon we would have lunch with Lestrade and Gregson. Come on," I grabbed hold both of his cold hands and dragged him up from the bed while his shoulders were draped by one of his more smaller blankets. He was shaking like a leaf as a result of the blistering cold air in his bedroom.

"Up you get. I already drew the bath for you earlier but I was surprised to see you still not bathed even. Honestly, my dear, a man has only so much patience." I huffed.

Holmes grumbled something in return to my continues nagging and he made his way to the bathroom like a stubborn boy with a scowling face to match. I sighed and returned to the sitting room to wait for him.

* * *

It took Holmes roughly around ten minutes in the bathroom to wash away yesterday's sweat and grim from the crooks of his elbow to the hollows of his knees and when he finally did came out, smelling of faint lavender soap and wet hair, he showed no signs of urgency to our deplorable punctuality. I kept glancing at my silver watch because I knew that we were oh so dreadfully late. I could no longer wait for him to get dressed on his own for I knew that it would most likely take another good ten minutes for it. 

I swung open the door and it banged against the wall with a loud thump which led Holmes to jump in surprise from my sudden intrusion. 

"Good God, Watson! I'm already in my shirt and trousers. Could you not have waited for me in the sitting room rather than charging through my room like a mad bull?"

"If I waited any longer, I might have gone mad entirely. I'm only here to speed up the process."

Holmes gave a quick smirk to my statement as he let himself finish the last few buttons of his shirt then made sure his cuffs were securely fastened. "Be my guest, Doctor."

In an instance, I swifty helped him into his black waistcoat and buttoned it up from the waist to his chest then smoothing it out with the flats of my palms once the fabric fitted snugly against his slender body. Next, I grabbed his fine grey jacket in which Holmes had already laid it out on his bed. I smiled timidly when I realised that the jacket he had picked out for this occasion was one of my most favoured outfits of his. Holmes moved gracefully into the sleeves of the jacket and continued to attach the grey buttons by himself while I, on the other hand, adjusted his collar and lapels so that no crease or wrinkle were visible. Holmes did not hesitate to lift his head up when I started to work myself with his cravat so that he would give me enough room to see.

In return for his temporary ability to stay still and not whine in the slightest, I placed my lips to the crook of his neck, rewarding him with gentle kisses to which Holmes enjoyed it immensely.

_"John."_

He breathed out my name, relishing the sensation of my soft lips against his pale skin and as for myself, feeling dizzy from the smell of his light floral cologne. If only he knew how devilishly ravishing he looked in his most fine cotton grey suits to which I could not pry my eyes away.

"Watson, the time is 8.50. Shouldn't we be-"

My head grasped the time of our promised meetings with Mycroft Holmes and before Sherlock Holmes could even utter a single word, I grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the room so that we may fetch our hats and if we were lucky, we might be able to avoid unwanted sibling quarrels regarding my husband's poor sleeping habits.


	6. By The Plucking of His Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I hear the few plucks of his violin strings from our sitting room while I was fully aware that it was long past midnight, then I may as well burry my head underneath my pillows for I knew that a good night's sleep was no longer probable.

Where on earth does Sherlock Holmes store his boundless bursts of energy? It seems to me that it can never be depleted whenever his magnificent brain was neglected from its original function to which it was built for. His intense curiosity for the bizarre and his limitless urge to face the criminal world with a mischievous grin and that familiar twinkle in his eyes. He thrives from that very nature. 

Sadly, when the very heart of the city fails to present my companion with those peculiar and abnormal problems that he so desperately craves. The results of those lulled days or even weeks will no doubt lead to my own misfortune as well as his.

So, it was no surprise to me when I heard the first few plucks of his violin strings, echoing through the silent hallways of our lodgings. If only a few plucks of his violin managed to arouse me from my dreams then I can only endure the full performance that was about to follow shortly. 

The room fell silence. 

As I was about to give out a relieved sigh, the deafening cries of his instrument filled every corner of our rooms. I laid in my bed with my eyes glaring at the ceiling while the two pillows from my bed were pressed tightly against my poor ears in a futile attempt to block out the dreadful noise. I had to begrudgingly admit that Holmes is a talented musician. From the way his slender fingers played his beloved violin with such grace, energy and passion that it was easy for one to fall into his orbit.

Yet, I was in no mood to fall into any of his orbits that night no matter how perfectly he played Brahms or how flawlessly he performed Paganini's violin solo in E major. It was ten minutes before two in the morning and there was not a person in their right mind would want to listen to a one man opera in the dead of the night. 

I kicked off the covers from my bed with a groan when I could no longer suffer through whatever piece Holmes was playing away so leisurely as if he was in the middle of the day. I stormed into the sitting room with my hair dishevelled and my eyes straining to keep them open. When I saw my friend, he was playing furiously on his violin in the middle of the room like a complete lunatic. His whole body swayed across the carpet while the bow that he held swung almost angrily in the air as if he were frustrated that he could not produce the perfect melody. 

"For the love of God, Holmes! It's two in the morning!" I cried out to him while my hands held tightly onto my pillow that I somehow decided to bring along with me.

"Yes. Lovely observation, Watson!" He said as his music didn't seem to be slowing down one bit and so our argument proceeded with Beethoven being the background noise.

"Will you stop that infernal racket? You are endangering us from being kicked out of our own roof by our landlady!"

"If I do stop, then what? Go to sleep? Watson, I have been doing absolutely that for the last eleven days and I only wish to break this wretched mundane schedule."

"Is that just your fanciful way of confessing you are bored?"

Holmes responded to my question by playing the violin even louder than he probably should have. His violin wailed and screeched out the melodies while I could already feel my head pounding from having to face our childish dispute.

Finally, in a fit of frustration, I threw my pillow at my companion's face but to my surprise, he managed to dodge it with one swift motion of his figure. 

"Aha! Shame on you, my dear fellow. Violence is never the right way to settle an argument." 

He's right. If I chased him around the room so that he may stop inflicting this ridiculous pain upon me, it would not come to a pretty conclusion. I needed a different approach. A new tactic, as they say. Something that will touch the very sweet spots of his cold heart that I have grown to love. 

"My dear Holmes. I-I have been quite lonely these past few days. You never seem to sleep together with me anymore."

Holmes stopped playing. He gave his full attention towards me but his violin and bowstring were still in his grasps. I walked towards him with slow careful steps until my body was inches away from his. I met his grey piercing eyes and tenderly my hands roamed around his strong waist as I tried my best to look pleadingly at him like a lost puppy.

"You are always staying up late. Well, its not unusual, really. But I cannot deny that my bed has been dreadfully cold without you to warm it up. Oh, how I miss these lovely hands of yours," I traced the shapes of his hands and gently grabbed both the violin and bow from his loosening grip and thus, placing it on his armchair.

"Is that so?" He said as he cleared his throat, his cheeks tinged pink from my honey coated words.

"Most definitely, my love. I missed your gentle touches against my skin, the kisses you would give to me on my aching war wounds, the very scent of you each time I wake up in the morning to find you underneath my blankets. So, I will  _beg_ if I must, please come to bed with me. I feels as if you do not find my presence pleasing anymore." I said those last few words as genuinely as I could for I truly did feel like I was being a mere burden to him rather than comfort. 

"No! Do not misunderstand, John. I do find your company nothing short than pleasing....but you know how I am. I can't quite help it." He said as his gaze settled on his slipper covered feet. 

"I know and I will not ask you forgiveness from it." I said as I gave him a small peck on his cheek. He returned the kiss more feverishly on my lips.

"Then, let me make it up to you, my dear. Will you let me spoil you until dawn?" His heavy lidded eyes gazing lovingly at me.

I grinned from the very thought of me being the only thing he wishes to play with. My Holmes is not always a cold calculating machine with a beating heart. He can easily be swooned as any other men with a few sweet words and careful planning. 


	7. A Comforting Mix Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were times when I found myself somehow wrapped up in Holmes's old dressing gown and when I really did realise it, I insisted on wearing it the entire morning. Holmes never did complain.

"Holmes, do be careful on the stairs. Are you even awake?" 

"Barely, Watson," said Holmes before letting out one big yawn then continuing his journey up on the seventeen steps of our staircase with me trudging from behind.

As for myself, I was in more danger of collapsing from sheer exhaustion on the stairs rather than Holmes himself who could easily tolerate endless nights without a single visit to his bed.

It was close to three in the morning when we finally arrived back to our cozy lodgings in 221B with our bellies empty, our feet sore, our eyes drooping and our minds completely and utterly exhausted. The singular yet tiring case that Holmes agreed to take up upon came to a fairytale like ending. All of our hardworking effort and inquiries culminated into one big climax of the problem.

Thus, our nerve wracked client was now safe and sound from his impending assassination by flying daggers from a crippled brute. But, that was another story for another time. All Holmes and myself could think of at that moment was sleep. Two whole days without slumber was nothing when it came to the detective but for me, it was misery by itself. 

We shucked off our overcoats and tossed them onto the floor, not bothering to hang them on our coat stand. I took off my hat, folded my jacket, unbuttoned my waistcoat, unlaced my boots and replaced them with a pair of warm night slippers. I rubbed my face with a sigh then made my way to my long awaited bedroom.

"Watson," whispered Holmes as I felt a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist and the familiar heat of Holmes's body against my aching back. 

"What is it now?" I groaned when he halted me where I stand. 

"I would like to invite you to my bed." I could feel him smile against the back of my neck. His nose nuzzling affectionately on top of my head as if he were a cat who wanted nothing more than to bask on top of his master's lap.

"Why not _my_ bed? Oh, fine! As long as I get some well earned rest."

"Well then, let us retire before you become as cranky as Lestrade when I finally managed to make a fool of him in front of those constables." He giggled to himself as he led me to his room and we said no more after that. 

* * *

I woke up before the clock struck eight then realising that I was absolutely famished. I got out of Holmes's bed with him still sleeping like a log beside me. I rewarded him with a kiss on his forehead then stumbled to the washroom to settle my toilet needs. A splash of water to my face, a quick shave of my itchy stubble and a good combing of my dusty blonde hair and moustache. Already I felt refreshed and recovered but the feeling of drowsiness in my system still refused to be dismissed. My eyes still straining to keep them open as I sat myself down at the breakfast table. A knock came at the front door and instantly, my face brightened when I knew breakfast was within arms reach.

"Come in, Mrs. Hudson." Our long suffering landlady came in with her usual gentle mother like smile and beamed even brighter when she saw me already seated for breakfast. 

"Good morning, Doctor. Oatmeal, eggs and fresh bread today. Just they way you like them. Pipping hot as always." 

"Mrs. Hudson, as ever, you are an angel."

"A bit early for flattery, don't you think, Doctor. Tea will be up in a moment." She gave a small laugh but before she could find her way out, she paused, titled her head a little to the left like those of a curious bird and stared hard at me. 

"I-Is there something the matter?" Feeling embarrassed if any of my outfit was amiss without me noticing it. 

"Oh, no, no! Apologies for staring, Doctor. But, I couldn't help but notice that you are wearing Mr. Holmes's dressing gown."

At that moment, my heart suddenly felt like it was stuck inside my throat for I was terrified if our loyal landlady should finally see through her tenants' true nature. A widower and a bachelor living under the same roof for many years while solving crimes together as a living would already raise questionable assumptions. 

"I probably made a bit of a mix up when I sorted out both of your laundry, Doctor Watson. Oh, I'm terribly sorry."

I breathed out a relieved sigh when our landlady did not question any further on how could I have possibly managed to wear Holmes's moose coloured dressing gown by accident. I said to her that it was no harm and requested the tea should be served quickly for I was both thirsty and starving. Mrs. Hudson obliged and quickly huddled downstairs and brought the tea in a matter of minutes. Once I was alone in the cold sitting room, I arranged the bowls of oatmeal on the same empty tray alongside two cups of steaming tea. I made sure Holmes's cup had one lump of sugar, just the way he fancies it in the morning. I grabbed the tray and made my way towards his bedroom. When I nudged the door open with my elbow for my hands were quite full, I was happy to see my dear Holmes already sitting up upon his bed with his black hair sticking out in odd ends.

"Oh, good morning, my dear." I said to him and he smiled warmly in return. His eyes brightly lit as a result to his good spirited mood from yesterday's success regarding the case. Holmes suddenly seemed flustered when he took a few seconds to confirm that I was indeed wearing his most beloved dressing gown. It fitted loosely around my figure since he was a few inches taller than me.

"I accidentally took one of your dressing gown instead of mine, Holmes. I hope you won't mind." I said as I set down the tray on his bed. Holmes clasped a hand around his mouth to stifle out his usually loud laughter. 

"On the contrary, Watson. You look quite dashing in my dressing gown. Oh, may I kiss you, my love?" He held out his hands in front of me, inviting me into his embrace with eyes gazing pleadingly at me.

"You don't need my permission for that, Sherlock. I would gladly oblige." I climbed onto the tangled up bedsheets and settled between his spread legs with a grin. I leaned forward with both my hands planted firmly on his thighs. I gave him the kiss that he so politely asked for as Holmes cupped my face so that he might receive more than just a simple brush of our lips. His mouth sweet and heated against my own made my breath quicken. I realised that Holmes had just woke up and he was so deliciously warm beneath me.

"Seeing you in my clothes, John," he said between our fevered kisses. "is more than I can bear." I managed to bit back a moan when I heard those words of his escape his swollen lips. His hands rubbing eagerly on the sides of my waist, earning a soft moan from my mouth. 

Despite our heated situation, we were rudely interrupted when the sound of my rumbling belly startled the both of us. We looked at each other for a split second before I buried my face against Holmes's chest in a hopeless effort to hide my reddening face from him. Meanwhile, Holmes's shoulders shook from laughter as he gently lifted my chin so that he could meet my eyes. I tried helplessly to avoid his piercing gaze but the struggle was a fruitless one.

"Apologies, Watson. You've been an invaluable help to me these last few days and you haven't even had the proper time for a good meal. Let's have breakfast first so that we can continue our more intimate activity." He ran his fingers through my hair as I leaned to the touch of his marvelous hand that has been countlessly praised in my narratives.

I relaxed a bit and gave one final peck on his thin lips. "Do you still wish to see me in your clothes?" I asked.

"Most definitely, Doctor."

He gave me one of his charming smile that only I alone could ever had the pleasure to witness. 


	8. Pop, Goes The Sleuth!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear, one of these days, Holmes disguises will eventually be the death of me!

If you had the greatest honour of meeting Mr. Sherlock Holmes and an even greater privilege still if you are considered to be his most invaluable and most beloved of companion, then I must advise you, my fellow rhetorical readers.

Beware of his love for highly unnecessary dramatic introductions! 

He pops out, more often than I can bear, out of the blue and mostly whenever I least expect it. He bears not a single resemblance to his former self, not until I squint hard at him and finally see his wild grey eyes behind those locks of greasy hair. He could walk by you as a humble fishmonger from the docks and you wouldn't be the wiser. He could even be sitting at your very feet as an old broken begger and you would refuse to meet his eyes for he reeks of rotten vegetable and soot.

He could become anyone he wishes with a simple brush of his make up alongside a perfect match of wigs and costumes. Voila! Sherlock Holmes is no more!

I suppose after suffering through numerous times that Holmes has made a fool out of me then proceeding to laugh, claiming my shocked expression was the most funniest thing he has laid eyes upon, I decided that it was _my time_  to pay him the debt.

* * *

Holmes had gone out before I awoke and left a note on my writing desk. At first glance, I suspected it was for a case but my theory proofed wrong when I mumbled out his written message.

_"Gone out to visit Mycroft. He telegraphed me, stating he was unwell. As always, don't wait up for me. As always, I love you, my dear John."_

Strange.

The older Holmes has fits of asthma and sore joints every now and again and once did I had to attend to his medical needs after the event of 'The Greek Interpetur'. Such activities that required great amounts of running of any sort was not wise for his health.

But that does not excuse Holmes for traveling to his brother's aid. Mycroft would have just wire his local physician rather than summoning his younger brother. 

I pushed back those thoughts and thought long of what should I be engaging while I await for Holmes's return.

I had no activities in particular for me to distract myself with. No patients to attend for today was the weekend. Not a single book that piqued my interest and it was far too hot outside for me to make a journey to the old bookstore. I stood near my desk then glanced at Holmes's bedroom where the door was left ajar. 

What if?

I felt my lips and mustache curl into a wide grin.

* * *

 After half an hour at my club, I was convinced that my disguise was absolutely perfect. Not one of my fellow drinking companions saw through my dirt covered costume and fake beard. My eyes were hidden under the rim of my ink stained cap and I smell of cheap alcohol for I have been drinking quite a few bottles. The scent worked towards my advantage. It created the affect that I certainly was who I claim to be. A lonely ink seller with a bad habit of drinking.

This should be wonderfully entertaining!

* * *

 

"Good afternoon, sir. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting today?"

Holmes extended his arm and gave me a quick handshake. Before I could utter my false name, Holmes rushed over to his desk and place a bouquet of flowers wrapped in yesterday's paper. He turned towards me and gave me fleeting smile.

"Mr. Ian Fowler, sir. I say, it's an honour of meetin' you, Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm quite a busy man, Mr. Fowler. Might you state your business here? Then again, you don't quite look like a client of ours."

"Why is that, sir?"

"The people who pass through our doors range from many backgrounds but they share a common look in their eyes, body language, facial expression and so on. Fear, nervousness, restlessness, pale features, lack of sleep, strained nerves. These are the details they share but I cannot say the same for you, Mr. Fowler. Pray tell what is your purpose here?"

I gave a gruff laughter. Remarkable. Even in my disguise, he never cease to amaze. 

"I am a pal of the good Doctor Watson. We were drinkin' friends we was and I came here to pay him a visit. Says he finds me a good soul to talk to over a few tall glass of gin and so I thought I might pop by for a quick chat. But I seem to have gone 'ere at the wrong time, sir." 

"I see. The good doctor seems to have went out for a while. He hasn't even touched his writing desk. No matter. A friend of Watson's is a friend of mine. If you were to wait, I'm sure he'll turn up soon. I'll see to my landlady to bring up something to ease this wretched humid weather."

Holmes went downstairs to ring up the drinks while my eyes settled onto the bouquet of flowers on Holmes's desk. I stood up and peered closer for better inspection.

_Honeysuckle, orange blossoms and syringa._

Ah, I see. Honestly, you silly man! 

You could have told me and save the trouble.

* * *

 "I beg your pardon?" Holmes froze and stared at me with a look that was both a mixture of confusion and horror. I could already see the cogs behind his eyes turn and clang to my previous statement.

"Nothin' to be shy bout, sir. These 'ere flowers you just bought. Well, they tell a fine lot if you speak its language."

"How could you-"

"Why, your friend Watson, sir! A fine fellow he is! Taught me these things when I needed help with wooing over a handsome lady. A beauty she was too!"

Holmes gave a quiet chuckle and turned his attention towards the bouquet on his desk. The flowers' fragrance lingered in the air around us. He smiled then said,

"That does sound like _Watson_."

"He talks a lot bout you, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh, does he?"

"He tells me of your first meetin'. Says you were the best thing that popped into his lonely life. He tells me of how you are a very smart man. A prodigy, he says," I gave a hearty laugh in my altered rough voice when I saw how much these words were affecting the detective. His eyes grew wide while the blood rose to his cheek and ears to create a lovely blush along his milk like skin.

"He's very fond of you, sir."

"We are close companions. It is nothing unusual."

"Says he loves you, sir."

Holmes did not respond. 

"He tells me of how he finally spoke the truth to you. Ah yes, it was on a summer's day, I believe. A truly hot day it was. Just like this one. Says it was the biggest risk he ever took and it was the happiest thing he's ever done."

Holmes didn't dare move. Instead, he observed me and listened to every word that escaped my dry lips. 

_"Holmes."_

I removed my fake beard and pulled up my cap to give him a good view of the real person behind this disguise. I stared at him and sighed. The look on your face was my rewards and yet I could not laugh for you have truly won me over with your heart alone.

"You remembered the day of my confession to you. You wished to celebrate this day as an anniversary. No doubt the letter you wrote was just a lie to cover up your true whereabouts. You could have reminded me, you silly man!" 

_"John..."_

He was silent at first. Then Holmes gazed at me with eyes brimming with a sort joy and love that I have never yet seen. 

He lunged towards me and kissed the very breath out of my lungs. He squeezed me tight, pressed his soft lips firmly against mine and both his hands were cupping my jaw so that our foreheads touched and our nose nearly brushed one another. I could feel him giggle against my lips after we finally parted mouths to take deep breaths.

"My Watson! My Watson is following my methods to the very letter. He has taken upon my passion for detailed disguise and dramatic entrance! Shall I be expecting you to wear a deerstalker hat from now on?"

"Forget it! I follow your methods, not your wardrobe." 

Holmes leaned closer and once again our foreheads met. He slowly closed his eyes and hummed. I watched him for quite a while before finally breaking this enchanting trance.

"An anniversary requires a feast. What say you to a good dinner this evening at our favourite spot?"

"My dear John, I have already made reservations for two. I will feed you untill you are fat and warm and take you to my chambers and proceed to witness the softest parts of my sweet Boswell."

How could I refuse such an offer!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honeysuckle - generous and devoted affection
> 
> Orange blossoms - your purity equals your loveliness 
> 
> Syringa - memory


	9. A Silly Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes is a queer man. The things that upset him are absolutely and without question, ridiculous. Over small things, he gets worked up and what am I to do, but to cheer him up.

There came a time when I made mistakes in my life. Some rather trifling that goes unnoticed by Holmes like spilling coffee on the breakfast table. Some mistakes rather significant such as during cases when I fail to follow his order to the letter and yet he would still forgive me.

And yet, there came a time when I have blundered terribly and Holmes, in a horrendously bad mood, practically exploded from within and the hot melted lava came forth in bursts of insults, nagging and, dare I say, swearing. My fellow readers might ask; what happened that could result in such a scene?

Ah, that is my fault, I'm afraid.

He snapped when I told him that I have used the last of his shampoo. I tried apologising, begging even, if it meant he would forgive me. His eyes red from the lack of sleep, his black hair was not combed properly, his chemical experiments did not produce the results he wanted, his breakfast laid untouched, and he was hollering at me to get out and leave him be.

 _"I swear, Watson._ If you still are not able to bring yourself downstairs, I will not hesitate to use unnecessary force that might result in a fractured rib!!"

And so I fled. I retreat downstairs to Mrs. Hudson who actually heard the whole calamity that erupted upstairs. I sighed and shook my head when she saw me descending the seventeen steps of stairs like I was some child who got a good scolding from his mother.

"Oh dear, what is it this time?" She squeezed my arm reassuringly as her way of comfort. I smiled weakly at her.

"Shampoo this time, Mrs. Hudson. Shampoo."

"Out of all the things he-" Mrs. Hudson did not finish the sentence for she let out a frustrated breath and patted me gently on my old wounded shoulder.

"Let's not think about it now. Come, doctor. Maybe a cup of coffee and some eggs would do you good. Let that man be, there's no use in apologising when he's that upset."

She's right. As always. He won't hear my cries or pleases of apology. So, I must let time be my ally and hope to God that this would not last long.

"Whatever shall I do, Mrs. Hudson?" I said over her small white clothed breakfast table. The coffee was too hot and the omelette did not arouse my appetite.

She leaned back against her chair, crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

"Well, in cases such as this one, it reminds me somewhat of my quarrels with my late husband. He was a gentle fellow."

"Did he start the quarrels first?"

The old lady gave out a cheeky laugh as her hand flew to her mouth to cover her pearly white teeth.

"Goodness, no! It was usually me that got worked up over nothing. He was a gentle fellow but a mighty lazy one. Too lazy to even spread the jam on his toast, too lazy to even pour his own coffee. Mind you, we were no rich family, so things needed to be done without blushing housemaids."

"So, how did these things end?" I did not know how utterly terrified I was to hear her answer.

"They end up the same as they always do. We forgive and forget. When I was in a bad mood after a verbal quarrel regarding his muddy boots on the carpet, he would do all these nice things. He cleaned up after a meal, did his own laundry, took the kids out for a stroll so that I may find time for myself. All those 'little details' as Mr. Holmes would say."

After the talk I had with Mrs. Hudson, I went out and took a long walk around Hyde Park and soon reached a conclusion to this mess.

I need to win back his love for me.

After that one day, I did as I planned. I never made any messes around our rooms, I spread the jam on his toast even if he ignores it, I made sure to stack the blotting papers on his desk and fill his inkpot when it ran dry, I ran to the tobacconist to refill his pouch, I leave him to his chemical experiments in his blissful solitude and occasionally, I brought home chocolates and place them on his side of the table. He gave a glance and never spoke a word. When he goes out on his whirlwind of cases, I place a single flower on his desk, each different from the first. A flaming red rose, a bright blue tulip, a lovely forget-me-not, a fresh cape jasmine, an  
american cudweed and so on.

We didn't spoke for quite a while but I never did complain. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I never so much as lay a finger on his brand new lavender shampoo which I have brought for him. A few days flew by and I grew worried. Will he not forgive me for a mistake so utterly small?

One sunny morning, I decided that I would do the dishes since Mrs. Hudson needed to refill the pantry. At first, she fussed about it. Saying that no gentlemen should give her such kindness. I coaxed her once more and finally she gave in to my honey coated words. "Oh please, don't break anything, doctor."

As I was washing the dishes, I heard footsteps. Small and light. I knew it was Holmes, at once. I didn't dare turn around for I thought he might have come down to grab himself a light meal or ask me to brew the tea for lunch. Suddenly, I felt a tug on my sleeves.

_"Watson."_

I turned around and met his eyes. He was trying hard to find words for his next sentence. I placed back the sponge in the sink. "Yes, Holmes? Do you want tea to be brought upstairs? Or do you fancy coffee today?" He tugged once more on my sleeves with his eyes facing downwards.

"No. No coffee today. Will you-"

"Yes"

"Will you forgive me for being such a dramatic man?"

I laughed outright as I doubled over with my still wet hands clutching my stomach. Holmes's face reddened into the colour of bright scarlet with his lips pressed tightly. "Don't laugh, John!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, my dear."

He fiddled with his long fingers as his steps drew closer towards me.

"It's quite nice of you John to...do all those nice things. The chocolates, the flowers, sorting out the mail. I appreciate them. I do. You've been nice to me for so long and I have been building walls between us."

"As long as you forgive me, Holmes. I didn't mean any harm. Over a shampoo, that is."

I love teasing him.

Holmes reached for my waist and pulled me close until we were chest to chest, legs tangled and his head rested on my shoulder, near my ear. "I'm sorry, John." He whispered. His hair smelled of lavender soap. Oh, this man is full of surprises. I gave him a kiss on his forehead as his eyes fluttered close.

"Let's head up, before our landlady returns, you old man."


	10. Too Hot For Two Londoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was by far the most awkward position that I have ever found myself in. The situation became increasingly difficult to explain when our long suffering landlady popped into our rooms to deliver lunch.

"Faster, please, Watson!" It was a helpless plea and because of my companion's breathless gasps, I must press on.

"I'm doing my utmost best, my dear. I'm getting quite sore, Holmes."

"No, please, I will die without you, John!" I could see sweat dripping from his lovely pale neck and how his tongue was almost hanging loose like those of a dog.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not going to die, you dramatic man." I had to roll my eyes whenever he tends to exaggerate certain matters. My arm suddenly felt tired and the ache in my old shoulder was making itself known. And yet, seeing the distress that showed on my dear friend's face, I decided to ignore the ache and continue the task that I have started. Suddenly, a knock came at the door and in came Mrs. Hudson, holding a tray with what I can only assume was our salvation.

"Oh my goodness!!" She gave out a high pitched yelp and the tray of ice cold lemonade nearly sloshed out of the jug.

My cheeks reddened from the sudden intrusion and our landlady found Holmes and myself in an awkward position. 

"You two gentlemen are no better than my nephews. Please, Mr. Holmes, I beg you to get off the piles of whatever it is you are sprawled upon and Doctor, there is absolutely no use of sitting beside Mr. Holmes while fanning him with yesterday's newspaper." She nagged and continued that way for nearly ten minutes as she arranged our breakfast table. If it were a fine weather, Holmes would surely have countered her comments which would have spared us the torture. But in his current state, he had no energy to start in petty quarrels when the heat was almost too much to bear for two fog loving Londoners.

As for myself, I was weary and most noticeably, tired from having to fan Holmes while he tried his best to go through the evidence he managed to collect. Documents, telegrams, letters, today's newspaper from different printing press, all of them, pilled into miniature mountains in our sitting room. A cramped space with the thick air of the most foul smelling black tobacco and not to mention this year's most unforgiving heat. For all it's worth, it might probably be the death of both of us. Mrs. Hudson strode across the sitting room, nearly tripping over the piles of telegrams as she cursed under her breath and with one swift move, she ripped the blinds to reveal the blinding sunlight from outside. Holmes howled in horror when the piercing light fell onto his face as he scuttled off and hid behind me, clinging onto my sweat covered back. Mrs. Hudson unlocked the windows of our rooms and opened them with such force that the piles of papers were scattered like autumn leaves due to the sudden fresh gust of wind. I suddenly could breathe easily when my lungs were finally filled with fresh air and the gentle breeze from outside was heavenly. I turned around to see Holmes glaring daggers at our landlady who was opening every window in our stuffy lodgings.

"Damn our  _nanny_ , Watson. She's a monster. A vile creature." He hissed as his hands rested on my shoulders like I was some sort of shield.

"Holmes, you are being quite childish today. I wonder if the summer's heat has really scrambled your brain." I found one of his hands on my shoulder and guided him to our breakfast table where the jug of lemonade was neatly sitting in front of us. It was the second most tempting sight I have ever laid eyes upon. The first being the sight of Holmes sprawled on my bed, naked, desperate, chest heaving, thighs parted, hips trusting in search of friction, red swollen lips parted and the sound of his moans and whimpers being the only sounds filling my bedroom. Yes, that was a sight for any ex-army doctor. I grabbed a glass and poured lemonade for the poor man which he was still in one of his foul moods.

"My dear man, let us take a break before you shrivel up from sheer exhaustion and dehydration. We'll continue this case after our minds are cooled."

"Ever the doctor." He grumbled.

"Don't think you'll be hearing the last from me, Mr. Holmes." Our long suffering landlady patted me on the arm and I could not stifle the chuckle that escaped my lips.


	11. Shelter From The Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too hot. Too cold. When will the perfect weather greet us?

I can't quite recall when exactly I have drifted off into a well earned nap on the settee of our humble sitting room. The fire was thankfully still roaring with flames and instantly I was grateful for the ever loyal Mrs. Hudson. 'If the fire were out when I was dozing, I would surely wake up with frost hanging from my mustache!' I thought. As I was about to stand up to stretch myself in front of the fire, my companion burst through the door with such energy as if Holmes himself was the very hurricane that the great city of London was currently facing. Heavy snowfall and great gusts of wind were the only weather that greeted me these past few weeks every time I set foot to run errands. 

Before I could even ask Holmes what has he been engaging himself these past five days, I gasped in horror seeing my dear friend's current and most frightening state. His face was pale as a ghost, his body shaking like a leaf under the mercy of a windy day, lips cracked, his arms were wrapped tightly around himself, his teeth were chattering violently that it prevented him from forming the sentences that he wanted to say.

Quick as a whip, I dashed over to my poor friend's side, peeling off his filthy beggar's disguise. Holmes, for once, did not seem to object to my aid. His overcoat and shirt sleeves were drenched with rain and melted snow and it was no wonder that Holmes's came back to Baker Street looking as if he had threaded through the North Pole. 

"Easy now. Let's get you near the fire." I said.

When I finally held his hand, it felt like I was gripping a freezing corpse and that very sensation sent a shiver down my spine. He was half naked in front of me, clinging to my arm like a shivering kitten. I guided him safely in front of the fire and into his own armchair with no time spared. I didn't want to leave him without a single fabric covering his exposed upper body. I ran to his bedroom to fetch him one of his night shirt and a thick blanket so that he may have enough layer to heat up his trembling figure. I helped him into his loose shirt for he could barely lift his arms. I wrapped him in his blanket for good measure.

Holmes, at that night, was the very picture of a man who has suffered from the bone gripping cold of the weather. His legs were drawn up on the seat and they were pressed tightly against his chest while his hands gripped fiercely to the blanket that covered his entire curled up body.

I went downstairs to brew him up something hot. It suddenly came to my attention that it was nearly midnight and that Mrs. Hudson had already retired to bed. I came upstairs and found him just as I have left him; cold and tired. I handed him the hot tea and he accepted it without a word. I was glad that colour returned to his face once he settled his spot in his armchair along with a steaming cup of tea. I remained seated on the settee while I filled my time with a novel in my hand. I was not tired for I had a good nap and decided I shall keep Holmes company for the time being. We fell into a mutual peaceful silence save for the sound of crackling logs under the fire.

I was enjoying my book when Holmes suddenly stood up with his blanket still draped over his shoulder and the rest pooled on the floor. He went over to me and sat gracefully on my lap with no hesitation. I could feel his weight an top of me and I did not mind at all. I saw his thin lips curling into a weak smile and his eyes told me that he had gone through many hardships to see to it that his current case was close for good.

"So, are you going to tell me which housemaid you are to be wedded to this time?" I teased.

Sherlock Holmes merely chuckled at my words and continued to give me the full details of his successful case. I listened eagerly at his story and asked him a few questions to which he happily replied. I believe that I could never grow tired of his eyes whenever he is telling the tales of his adventures and how he could come to the conclusions of his remarkable deductions. His grey eyes sparkled under the fire as the blood returned to his cheeks.

"In the end, Watson. It was a trifling case and I somewhat regret that I took up upon it. I should have handed this one to Lestrade rather than spending nearly five hours a day as a beggar so that I may have the facts of my suspected victim. It was simply not worth it." He huffed at that last sentence as if he was disappointed of his fine work.

"You nearly froze to death, my dear Holmes. I shall see to it that our client pays you generously this time for your undivided attention." I rested my hands on his slender waist.

"Well, I certainly earned  _your_ undivided attention, Watson." said Holmes as his hands cupped my jaw and I gazed lovingly into his eyes.

He laid his cold lips upon my own and I found myself enjoying the warmth of his mouth. He snuggled on top of me, shifting himself against my own chest as his head finally rested under my chin as he breathed in the scent of myself. I rubbed and soothed his back, feeling his chest moving to the rhythm of his breathing. He was finally warm beneath me as he sighed to the pleasure of this peaceful moment. After a while, I looked down to see him sleeping soundly. Seeing Holmes finally at ease will never cease to bring utter joy in my heart. I closed my own eyes and soon, I fell asleep.

To feel my beloved in my arms.

Safe and yielding. Happy and smiling. Shelter from the harsh bitter world outside. Their malice and war can go to damnation. In here, my beloved will _always_ find shelter. 

To feel my beloved smile in my arms.

What more could one ask?


	12. A Pair Of Ordinary Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For me, I did not enjoy wearing them but for one particular person, it leaves him blushing like a schoolgirl!

"Holmes, will you please stop staring at me like I'm some sort of exotic creature that managed to wander its way into our rooms."

I could feel the colour rise to my ears and cheeks when I realised that he had not stop watching me even after I met his eyes. His cup of coffee still in his hand but it never met his lips. His breakfast laid out in front of him was rapidly growing cold and this morning's newspaper sat quietly beside him with pages undisturbed. 

"Oh! I-I'm terribly sorry, old boy. It's your gla–"

"I'm well aware of it by now." I could manage having Holmes gaze at me every now and then. Whenever he was in a more playful mood, he would often watch me from across the breakfast table or behind his chemistry desk with a dreamy look on his face that never fails to make my wild heart skip a beat. But, I could not simply put up with Sherlock Holmes who was making me more uncomfortable and nervous with each passing minute. 

I let out a soft sigh of frustration and gave up my intentions of finishing my yellow paged novel which was a special gift from my late brother. I was about to store away my reading glasses when suddenly Holmes stood up and apologised earnestly for his unusual behaviour. 

"No, Watson! Forgive me for my constant staring but I...I-It's just you look quite–"

"Ridiculous? Old? Idiotic?" I snapped at him.

"Dashingly handsome." He blushed as he said those words.

"Oh."

The air around us was uneasy and rather tense as the silence in the room stretched out more than it should have. I realised I have jumped to an awful assumption and quickly tried to ease the situation that fell upon me.

"I owe you a thousand apologies, my dear Holmes. That was awfully rude of me and...umm...thank you. I always find it hard to put on these glasses. I look like an elderly grandfather figure whenever I spotted myself in the mirror with these glasses on." 

I pushed the glasses higher on the bridge of my nose as I was about to devour my eggs and bacon.

"May I have a look at them?" He asked.

"Oh, certainly. Can you charm me again with the same brilliance that I fell hopelessly in love with?" I gave him a seductive smile to which he grinned with a hint of smugness showing from his expression. He does love to impress me.

He observed those glasses for a full minute, turning it over with delicate care, eyes focused with that one soul task and finally, handing it to me once he was satisfied. I placed them back on my nose and sat back to listen to his extraordinary chain of deduction.

"A gift from your late wife, Mary. It holds sentimental value which explains why you rarely wore them as often as you would for fear it might bring back fond memories of her. Yet, you do not neglect to care and polish them because of how those glasses are practically shimmering from the light nor are there any signs of scratches on the lens and frame. But, you are, as you stated, afraid or self-conscious of what people might think of you when you wear them in open public rather than just settling for a good read. You are wearing it today however because a realisation finally dawned on you; John Hamish Watson needs a pair of glasses."

He paused for dramatic effect and I can't help but laugh along at his more cheerful moods. 

"My eyesight is getting worse. Soon, I might have to wear them everyday."

"I see no problem in that. My dear Watson, I'll show you how absolutely breathtaking you look with those glasses on."

"Oh."

Holmes, quick as a whip and swift as a feline, stood up, leaned forward and kissed me tenderly across our breakfast table. He took his sweet time exploring me, plundering whatever taste that still lingered inside me. I could not help but lean in to the warmth of his mouth, slowly rising from my seat with my palms flat on the table and the faint sounds of silverware clattering beneath me sparking a sense of adrenaline. Holmes moved back and I was under his spell, almost as if trying to lure me into his cleverly built trap. I was breathing heavily when finally our fevered kiss halted and I found that my glasses were crooked and it was in danger of falling from my nose. Sherlock Holmes stood back and smiled at me as if he was admiring a masterpiece that he has triumphantly created. 

He lifted his hand and smoothed the corners of my mouth, trailing my flushed cheeks. 

"Oh, John. You look absolutely debauched. Those glasses making it hard for me to sit still. The wondrous effect it has on me. I can have you on the table if you are willing?"

"We haven't even finished breakfast, Sherlock!"

I wore those glasses frequently but it was only because it stirs a certain detective and turns him into a flustering mess.


	13. His Methods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My gambling habit makes an appearance and Holmes is not too fond of it. He has his way with me and I am utterly defenceless against him.

"Again? Watson, your habit of– WATSON! Come back here this instant!"

I bolted from my armchair and made a dash towards the front door but Holmes's legs were longer and faster. He blocked the exit with his tall figure, eyes glaring at me with a hidden fury.

I was cornered by the quick witted slueth hound and I was not the least surprised, he's been chasing down criminals before I even started sharing digs with him. I've gotten myself into this mess and I intend to do everything in my power to get myself out of it. It was mostly temptation that drove me into this predicament for I am a man that loves to take risks, loves to harvest the seeds that I have sow, loves to gamble his spendings away for the pure thrill of it!

Holmes, having found out my recent visits to my club and after casting the briefest glance at me, he was able to see right though me. He knew instantly that my wallet became emptier after my nightly visit but I tried my best to hide the traces of evidence from that observant creature. Alas, any man or women that walks past Sherlock Holmes might as well confess his or her darkest secrets to him for there is nothing a mere mortal could hide from him.

"Hand it over. Your checkbook. Now." His tone, flat and cold. This was no suggestion. This was an order.

The soldier part of me was yelling in my head, telling me to stop this irresponsible habit of mine. But, the other stubborn part of me that literally indulges the excitement of gambling was encouraging me to do the opposite. 'Refuse at all cost. Will you seriously hand over your checkbook to Holmes? Have you really reached a new low in your life, Watson?,' the voice inside mocked and laughed.

"No. I-I promise. I'll stay off the fighting pits and reduce the frequent visits to my club. I'll stop my old habit, Holmes. Please, trust me."

"Will you stay off the racing tracks as well?" His eyes softened at my pleas and he uncrossed his arms.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I will." I nodded quickly, promising to behave in the future and watch over my spendings wisely. Yet, there was that same voice at the back of my head, taunting me, saying that it will only be a matter of time before those words of mine are noting but empty promises. I swallowed thickly. "I promise, Sherlock."

"I'm glad to hear that, John. I don't want you to share the same fate as your late brother, you know. This could be the first step."

Holmes smiled warmly at me, proud to see that his lover will finally stop throwing away the well earned money. He moved closer towards me and I found my hands in his slender ones. He gave me a slow gentle kiss with hands that started rubbing the sides of my waist and slowly rising to rest at my breast. Then, his actions started to get a bit heated.

His hands started toying with my nipples through the fabric of my waistcoat and shirt while his skilful tongue continued its bold ministrations against my own yielding mouth. I was sighing from the feel of his wet mouth, enjoying it deliciously. His left hand found the round, plump flesh of my buttocks, kneading it as he tugged me closer with a whispered call of my Christian name. I gave a soft groan. It took me by surprise since Holmes rarely performs these things upon me in the middle of the day and on the busiest day of the week. He loved to do these sort of intimate acts on more lulled days with nothing much to do and when a case is wrapped up, he begins to feel up against me, eyes almost begging me to do devious things to him with little less regard of where or when.

The heated kiss and exploring hands finally subsided and I was dizzy from it. I steadied myself as I ran my fingers through my hair and cleared my throat.

"What was that about, Holmes?" I asked him as Holmes was now moving towards his own desk.

"Taking the first step." He showed me in his left hand, practically waved at me mockingly, my bloody checkbook.

My eyes widen.

Holmes merely grinned at me.

_"You cunning little–"_

"Now, now, Doctor. You are angry, I'm sure but you will undoubtedly thank me later," He paused to store my checkbook inside his drawer, safely locking it up with a golden key and storing it inside his trouser pocket.

"Don't look so defeated, John. Would you like to continue what we have started or shall we wait until night falls?" He smirks with his chin held high and the blush from his cheeks are still bright.

"Night-time sounds pleasant. Are you not worried that I might steal that key from you?" I could not hide a grin that stretched upon my lips.

"I don't think you are capable to distract me to the point of no return."

I scoffed playfully at him. "You never really know my limits, my dear Holmes."


End file.
